They've won.
They've actually won the Hunger Games. Not just one of them. Not just Katniss and not just Peeta. But the both of them. Together.
She still can't believe it.
She'll be sitting in her new home, larger than her previous dwelling, on a rare day off from her Capitol tasks and it'll just hit her. She's a victor and so is Peeta.
That's usually when she gets up, goes over to his house, and knocks on his door. She has to see that he's really alive, that it wasn't some twisted nightmare with a glimmer of hope at the end.
And he's always, always, always there. He welcomes her with a small smile, like he knows what she was thinking.
Sometimes she shoots him a look, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. He shouldn't be able to read her mind like that.
But then other times? She goes in. She sits with him and she watches him bake, her face impassive and calm. She's not the kind of girl who wears her heart on her sleeve. In fact, she's far from it. It takes extreme emotion or surprise to get her to express how she's feeling.
Her favorite times, though, are when they talk.
It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, it's worth it. She watches him, the way he limps from place to place, his blonde hair catching the light from time to time. Even though he's been through so much, maybe even more than her, he's always able to smile.
She envies him for that.
And he's smiling at her right now, a fresh loaf of bread in his hands. "What're you thinking about?" he asks, setting it down on the table and moving to get a knife.
She laughs a bit, without humor. "That's a loaded question."
He shoots a look at her over his shoulder and she knows that he understands what she means. He's the only one that understands. Haymitch is close, but he didn't feel what she felt - didn't watch Peeta near death in a cave for every waking second, didn't feel her heart practically leaping out of her chest every time she thought he'd stopped breathing. She may not have loved Peeta like he loved her in that moment, but she cared. And it was killing her, almost as much as it was killing him. And, in that respect, Peeta watched her after Rue, saw the way it was eating at her conscience even though she wouldn't talk about it. He saw her after she risked her life to get his medicine, the cuts on her body from her fight with Clove. He was there.
He's always there.
"How've you been?" He tries again, but this question might be even harder than the previous. She shoots him a look to let him know and he actually laughs. It's not a fake laugh, either. It's straight from the gut, his entire face lighting up.
There's a knock at his door and he sighs. They both know it's just another person from District 12, coming around to see the victors and to take with them about the Games. It's nice and everything, to have people who care about them, but it's not as if they genuinely care. At least, she doesn't see it that way. They've become just another attraction to gape at, like animals caged for enjoyment. They're stuck in these lavish houses so people know where they are. The people who used to be their neighbors, who they used to suffer and starve with on a daily basis, come by "just to talk" or to offer gifts.
It's disgusting.
Peeta goes to answer it, all smiles and welcoming words. He looks back at Katniss once, wondering if she's going to join him, but she looks away, getting up and wandering away from the door. She can't deal with the spectators. Can't put on a happy face for them anymore.
God forbid she be upset that 22 children had to die for her and Peeta to live.
He comes back, limping, and sits in her previous seat, sighing. She moves back towards him, a blank look on her face. She doesn't want him to know how upset she is by this. He's probably already aware, but she doesn't want to emphasize it.
"What'd they want?" she asks, but it's only for conversation. She knows exactly what they want, what they constantly crave.
He shakes his head, but answers anyway. "What they always want." She nods, but he carries on. "They wanted to discuss the Games, wanted to hear what was going through my head when we killed Cato and won." He shudders at the memory and so does she. A flash of memory, the muttations, and it's gone again.
She wishes it would stay gone.
"I'm sorry." She really is. She doesn't say it very often, so Peeta knows so. He nods and she moves toward him, taking his hand in hers gently. This stuff, intimacy and physical contact, is all new to her, but she's learning. For him.
"They love us, Katniss." He doesn't look at her when he says it, just gazes straight ahead. It's reminiscent of the train ride from the Games to Capitol, the way he spoke without really knowing it, looked without really seeing what's in front of him.
"I know."
He finally glances at her. "No, they love us. They'll name a city after us if they can. We give them hope." It makes her irrationally angry, yet again, makes her clench her fists and want to dash to the woods with her bow. Why does that have to be their responsibility? They've already risked their lives and took others. Now they have to keep up appearances to satisfy the people of not only District 12, but also every other Distric in Panem. Especially the Capitol.
"I know." She repeats it quietly, almost a whisper. He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it before standing, brushing off his apron. It's usually about now that she leaves, goes back to her house and lays on her bed, flashing back to the Games and wondering. But not this time. This time, she stands too. She finishes cutting the bread and offers him a piece.
They sit at the table and eat in silence, exchanging occasional glances.